[U.A. CAFETERIA — AFTERNOON]
Yuta lay backward across the cafeteria chair like soone who had just watched his dreams get set on fire and mailed back to him in an envelope labeled "NO REFUNDS."
One leg draped over the side.
His head hung off the backrest.
His lunch tray sat untouched on the table.
He stared upside-down at the ceiling, contemplating Plan D.
Which was code for Go back to pondering how to make Plan B work.
The cafeteria chatter humd around him—cutlery scraping, students arguing about lunch sets, soone loudly advertising their self-designed protein bar.
But his classmates found him first.
Kimura slid into the seat across from him, tray clattering. "Why do you look like that?
Hana blinked at him. "Are you... dying?" she proceeded to poke Yuta’s limp arm with a fork. "Blink twice if you’re dying."
"Just having a mid life crisis. Don’t mind ." Yuta responded apathetically.
Kimura cocked his head. "Alright then. So... why were you called to the Design Lab this morning?"
Yuta slowly lifted one eye, voice flat, two words:
"Support gear."
Hana tilted her head. "Failed, huh?"
Yuta exhaled. "Yep."
He proceeded to reveal the ins and outs of the matter.
Tanaka leaned back, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Man, I an... the fact that the principal smiled while crushing your dreams—impressive, in a soul-crushing sort of way."
"Never stood a chance," Hana added.
"Rest in peace," Kimura concluded.
Yuta didn’t respond.
Kimura tried again. "So... what now? You gonna improvise or just sulk?"
"Both," Yuta muttered, tone deadpan.
Hana snorted. "You always make it sound so... heroic. Like, tragic but classy."
Yuta finally cracked one eye open. "...You all know exactly what you sound like, right?"
Kimura shrugged. "We’re trying to help."
"...Helpful is debatable."
They all chuckled quietly, the tone light but laced with teasing.
"Well, you’ll probably find a way around it."
"I don’t know. This seems like a dead end." Kimura thought differently.
"Don’t listen to this idiot." Hana snorted. "You notice details when we don’t. I’m sure you’ll think of sothing."
Tanaka gestured at the tray. "Maybe eat sothing. Might help you think clearer. Hard to see solutions when you’re starving."
"Right," Tanaka nodded. "Clear mind, clear vision."
Kimura added, "Everything’s easier when you can see it properly."
Hana humd. "Exactly. Sotis the trick is just looking at it from the right angle."
Yuta stared at them.
The three of them kept talking, arguing about which angle was "the right angle" to look at things from.
But Yuta wasn’t listening anymore.
Because sothing inside him
clicked.
A slow, creeping horror dawned across his face.
He sat up — very slowly, very stiffly — like a corpse rising from a coffin.
"...No," he whispered.
Kimura blinked. "Uh. You good?"
"No," Yuta said again, voice hollow. "I’m not good."
He dragged a hand down his face.
Then another realization hit him even harder, and he choked out:
"...I’m an idiot."
His friends shared a look.
"Like—normal idiot?" Tanaka asked. "Or the rare kind?"
"The catastrophic kind," Yuta whispered.
He slumped forward, placing both hands over his eyes.
Because the truth was now undeniable:
He had spent three days...
Three full days...
Trying to recreate jutsu —
Blind.
Without visual analysis.
Without chakra tracking.
Without energy pattern mapping.
Without the one tool engineered specifically to copy, analyze, break down, and reconstruct complex techniques.
The one tool sitting inside his skull.
The Sharingan.
He had done all of this while completely ignoring the literal ocular cheat code.
He stared down at the table in defeated silence.
"...I am genuinely, irreparably stupid."
Tanka pushed up his glasses. "That’s a bit much."
"Shush! This is his Eureka mont," Kimura gestured dramatically. "Don’t ruin it."
Yuta suddenly stood up.
Hana blinked. "Where are you going?"
"Gotta take care of sothing," Yuta said, grabbing his tray.
Tanaka raised a brow. "What, secret girlfriend?"
"Yeah, her na’s Responsibility." He uttered a while picking up his tray
"Sounds toxic."
"Very."
"You two gonna break up?"
Yuta paused. "Hopefully." Then he dashed out of the cafeteria.
His friends watched him go.
"...So what do you think he’s doing?" Hana said.
"No idea. You?" Kimura agreed.
"Maybe he’ll go to a pawn shop or sothing?"
"You can’t bring external equipnt at all. Maybe he has an idea to convince the principle."
Tanaka nodded. "Place your bets: is it smart reckless or dumb reckless?"
Hana didn’t hesitate. "Dumb."
Kimura shrugged. "To be fair... at least he realized it before the Sports Festival and not during it."
"Yeah," Hana sighed. "Small miracles."
__
[U.A. HALLWAY – AFTERNOON]
Yuta dumped his tray, tightened his bag straps, and broke into power walk like a man possessed.
’Sharingan. I forgot the Sharingan. I actually forgot the Sharingan... I should be expelled just for stupidity.’
His friends’ words still echoed in his head.
"Clear mind, clear vision."
"Everything’s easier when you can see it properly."
"Sotis the trick is just looking at it from the right angle."
He’d spent three days trying to recreate jutsu techniques—blind.
Without the one tool literally designed to copy, analyze, and reconstruct complex techniques.
The Sharingan.
’I’m an idiot. A complete, categorical idiot.’
He turned the corner sharply, mind racing.
’If I activate the Sharingan while performing hand seals, I can see exactly how my chakra flows. Map the pathways. morize the sequence. Then recreate it without—’
WHAM.
He collided with sothing—soone—head-on.
The impact wasn’t hard, but it was sudden enough that both parties stumbled.
"Ow—!"
A high-pitched yelp.
Yuta blinked, steadying himself.
A floating uniform staggered backward, sleeves flailing.
His stomach dropped.
’Oh no.’
"Toru!" Two voices called out simultaneously.
Mina Ashido and Hanta Sero rushed forward from a few steps behind.
"You okay?" Mina asked, steadying the invisible girl by the shoulder.
"Yeah, yeah, I’m fine—" Toru’s sleeves waved dismissively. "Just got—"
She paused.
Slowly, her gloves turned toward Yuta.
There was a beat of silence.
Then—
"YOU AGAIN?!"
Yuta’s face went pale.
Mina blinked. "Wait—this is the guy?"
Sero looked between them. "The tray guy?"
"AND THE BOOK GUY!" Toru’s sleeves jabbed accusingly at Yuta. "THIS IS THE THIRD TI!"
"I—I didn’t an to—" Yuta stamred, taking a step back.
"YOU NEVER AN TO!" Toru shrieked. "BUT IT KEEPS HAPPENING!"
Mina covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.
Sero just looked impressed. "Man, what are the odds?"
"TOO HIGH!" Toru snapped. "THE ODDS ARE TOO HIGH!"
Yuta raised his hands defensively. "I swear, this ti was an accident—I wasn’t looking—"
"YOU’RE NEVER LOOKING!" Toru’s voice hit a pitch that could shatter glass. "DO YOU JUST WALK AROUND WITH YOUR EYES CLOSED?!"
"I—no—I was thinking—"
"THINKING?! ABOUT WHAT?! NEW WAYS TO TERRORIZE ?!"
Mina finally lost it and snorted.
Sero grinned. "Toru, co on, he probably didn’t even know you were there."
"THAT’S THE PROBLEM!" Toru gestured wildly. "I’M INVISIBLE! I GET IT! BUT THIS GUY HAS A RADAR FOR HITTING !"
Yuta opened his mouth to apologize—
But Toru wasn’t done.
"FIRST, a tray to the face! THEN, a book to the head! NOW, a full-body collision! WHAT’S NEXT?! A DESK?! A PIANO?! A TEORITE?!"
"Toru—" Mina tried.
"NO! I’M CURSED! THIS SCHOOL IS CURSED! HE’S CURSED!"
Yuta took another step back.
’Abort. Abort mission. Tactical retreat. NOW.’
"I’m really sorry—" he started.
"SORRY DOESN’T FIX MY SPINE!"
"Your spine is fine—"
"YOU DON’T KNOW THAT!"
Sero leaned toward Mina. "Should we stop her?"
Mina shrugged. "Honestly? Let her get it out. She’s been holding this in for days."
Toru puffed up, sleeves trembling with righteous fury.
"I swear—this ti—I’m actually going to—"
But before she could detonate verbally—
"HEY!"
Bakugo’s voice cracked through the hallway like a grenade.
All three of them—Mina, Sero, and Toru—jerked around.
Bakugo stalked toward them with the expression of a man who had been inconvenienced by the very concept of walking.
"What the hell are you extras standing here for?"
Sero grinned. "Toru got hit again. She was about to give him a piece of her mind."
Bakugo stopped. Squinted. Glared at empty air.
"...Do you idiots take for a fool?" he snapped. "I don’t see anyone."
Three simultaneous "Huh?"
Toru, Mina, and Sero spun back around—
—only to find the spot where Yuta had been standing...
completely empty.
Toru froze.
Her gloves twitched.
"...He ran."
Mina blinked. "He ran."
Sero nodded sagely. "He absolutely ran."
There was a beat of stunned silence.
Then Toru erupted.
"HE RAN? HE RAN?! AFTER HIT NUMBER THREE?!"
Her sleeves slapped against her sides in outrage.
"HE HAS THE NERVE TO HIT AND THEN FLEE THE SCENE?! WHAT IS HE, A JET BOOT HERO?!"
Bakugo stared at them like they’d all collectively lost their minds.
"...Whatever. Don’t involve in your dumb soap opera."
He stomped off, muttering.
Mina put a hand over her mouth.
"...Should we go after him?"
Sero stretched lazily. "Nah. If he’s running, he’s motivated."
Toru vibrated with indignation.
"I’M motivated! Motivated to commit violence!"
Mina patted her shoulder. "Let it go, Toru. He didn’t an it."
"HE NEVER ANS IT! THAT’S THE ISSUE! ACCIDENTS SHOULDN’T BE A DAILY OCCURRENCE!"
She pointed in the direction Yuta fled.
"MARK MY WORDS—NEXT TI, I’M WEARING A HELT."
---
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